Second Life
by bergundy
Summary: Sasuke. Rock band. Somewhere near Sakura. Three fragments that should never be put together. [SasuSaku, Snakes and Ladders Series]
1. Chapter 1

**Notes**: Er…brain spasm? I _have _seen a lot of pretty houses before, and the weather of September 22nd was very inspiring. By the way, I believe Sasuke is 100 percent straight. (This is because the first few lines may seem a little suspect.)

**Disclaimer: **Mumble mumble. Wince.

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"Oy, bastard, beauty-sleep's over."

He groaned, burying his face into the mattress under an oversized pillow. Why was Naruto up before him? He rolled over and a shaft of bright, golden light lanced into his eyes. Naruto yanked the blankets out from under him. How the _hell_ had _he _gotten into his room, for that matter?

A bleary glance at the bedroom door told him that Naruto had pretty much busted the locks and burst inside through brute force. "You're paying for that."

The deeply irritated command didn't faze Naruto, who scratched his rumpled blond head. "Why'd you fix extra junk on your door anyway? You could have spent the money on something so much better. Like ramen!"

He sat up on the bed, shooting a disgruntled glare at the foolish mortal who had dared to wake him. "Idiot, the only ramen you'll find here is the dried and packaged kind."

"Nah, Chouji's arriving tomorrow at the airport. Hey, Shikamaru and Kiba are already up; don't look at me like that. Sasuke-bastard."

Sasuke rubbed his face with a hand. Did _no one_ feel jet lag except for him?

"…An' after that, we're going to see the neighborhood…Sasuke?"

The sole response that Naruto received was the slam and click of the bathroom door lock.

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Sasuke's father had never approved of any performance-oriented professions and had long since cut off his youngest son from the large conventions and banquets that he, owner of Uchiha Enterprises – one of the most powerful media empires in the eastern hemisphere – hosted on a regular basis. But he could not forbid his reporters and stations from covering Sasuke's band when it took off with unexpected success. All of Japan's youth knew the names of Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto, Nara Shikamaru, and Inuzuka Kiba…especially the female population (not all of whom were younger than thirty). There was, as a gleeful reporter (soon to be fired by Uchiha Fugaku for her temerity) quipped, one for every girl's preference: Nara Shikamaru, the laid-back and nonchalantly cool bass player; Inuzuka Kiba, the bad-boy, tough-guy-with-a-nice-heart drummer; Naruto, the irrepressible, brash lead singer whose friendly persona and "adorable" orphan sob-story endeared him to every girl old enough to say his name (and even earned him thirty minutes on a teen's show called "Role Models of Today").

And then there was Sasuke, who gave interviews very reluctantly, appeared in top-fifty lists in magazines that he _never _wanted to hear about again,

(even Itachi had made a subtle, mocking reference about _Konoha_'s guitarist and second vocalist)

caused a fan to faint after he agreed to taking a picture with her…and so on. Legions of fans thought about him every day; on the date of his birthday, his face and the group pictures of the band _Konoha_ filled every giant screen on the high-rise buildings.

_Konoha_'s producers had persuaded the group to widen their fanbase by spending a few years performing on the other side of the world. _Konoha_'s fans had wailed and bemoaned their celebrities' decision, but to Sasuke it was an opportunity to take a breath of fresh air.

"Americans are very blasé about Asian groups," Kakashi had said calmly, "but we believe that _Konoha _can easily appeal to the Asian community in the U.S. Your music videos are already widely circulated in mainstream Asian TV."

Despite that, however, Sasuke had looked forward to leaving Japan. It would be nice to be able to take a walk without being plagued by paparazzi, or speed down a highway on his bike without being blinded by camera flashes and screams. He had to clear his head, remember why he had gone into the music industry in the first place.

So _Konoha_ settled into a mansion complete with pool, Jacuzzi, recreation center, and fitness facilities. But for all that, there was not enough space between Sasuke and a hyperactive Naruto on their first morning in the States.

This was how Sasuke ended up running out of the mansion's gates… and meeting _her_.

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Sakura didn't like rich people.

In fact, she _despised _rich people. Ino, who liked to keep up with gossip, fashion, and celebrity news, always gave her best friend the latest dirt on the rich and famous. Armed with that knowledge, Sakura felt justified in labeling the majority of popular, wealthy society as incredibly _dumb._ It wasn't that she bore some kind of deep, patriotic love for the country of her parents, either; she listened to both indie and mainstream music, but it didn't mean that she had to like the people behind the records. Money made people dumb. Most people with money w_ere _dumb. She was _never_ going to sympathize with their troubles.

She despised the fact that the aforementioned "stars" saw her neighborhood, which was the charming, almost suburban frontier of a big city, as an ideal getaway. But she didn't mind the homes. Every morning, she took Chiba out for an extra-long stroll down the cleanswept sidewalk that led her on a tour of gorgeous architecture.

Sakura had a favorite house. It was a mansion situated at the top of a gentle grassy incline. The path leading up to the front door was shaded by a colonnade of trees, and the driveway curved out of sight behind the mansion's faded red, sandstone walls. She had never seen the tall, iron-wrought gates open. The mansion itself was charming, a pale peach-pink, with decorative columns and archways the color of the inside of a shell. They led into a covered area where a modest group could sit and relax. It was quite beautiful, _and_ unoccupied; just the kind of house that Sakura would have liked to spend a vacation in, if not live in.

But last night, Ino – who knew everything and anything – had called Sakura to tell her that her dream house had been occupied by new and mysterious celebrities. She had experienced a surge of resentment and dislike – _how dare they?_ – but in the end had to concede that it wasn't her property and probably never would be.

She chose the following clean, sunny morning of September to pay her last respects to an old childhood hope. The air had a sweet, nostalgic quality, like an hour of spring displaced near the end of summer. Sakura walked Chiba on the street across from her beloved house, which was the only way she could see it over the high walls. A small speck was making its bobbing way down the road from the mansion. New celebrity.

_Goodbye, _she thought regretfully. _Even though I never set foot in you…even though you're not mine to give away._She stopped in her tracks for one last view, letting Chiba nose the base of a tree.

The gates opened.

A dark-haired youth emerged into the golden-yellow sunlight. The dappled silhouettes of green-leafed branches draped over his shoulders as he paused to make sure the gate was shut. Abruptly, he froze with his back to Sakura, as if with a shocking revelation. The next moment, a stream of invective heated the air. Sakura couldn't help it; she laughed. He was cursing in Japanese, as fluently as her mild-mannered father would when he tripped over something in the house.

As it usually was at this hour, the street was quiet and peacefully empty. The young man turned at the sound of her voice and gave her a black, haughty stare. Sakura swallowed her laughter and returned his cold appraisal. It was _his _fault that his immaturity had made her laugh. She wasn't about to feel genuinely sorry for souring a rich boy's day.

Detachedly, she noticed that he _was_ unfairly good-looking. Even at this distance she could tell that his features were well-arranged. His eyes were the most striking part of his face, two dark scoops of coffee in a face so pale that he could only be a superstar from Asia. (American celebrities, after all, preferred to tan themselves.) His gray jeans and white shirt fitted him so well that they must have been tailored.

Sakura had learned the hard way in grade school (this was before Ino had taken her under her wing) that it was better to deal with problems head-on. The faster a confrontation took place, the earlier it ended. So she reasoned to herself as she crossed the road, Chiba's reassuring bulk trotting beside her.

She had been right; the guy _was_ exceptionally handsome. But it was impossible to forget that he was also an arrogant prick when he continued to stare down his nose at her. Well, she'd be leaving soon.

"I wasn't laughing at you," Sakura told him frankly. "Your…exclamation reminded me of someone." Her eyes flickered past his shoulder to the gate. He must have locked himself out by accident. "Sorry if I offended. Good day."

She gave Chiba's leash a light tug and the dog pulled away from trying to inhale the man's pant leg. As she was turning, the guy – he didn't look much older or younger than her, come to that – spoke. "Excuse me. Would you happen to have a cell phone on you?"

Sakura was kind at heart, and could sympathize with being stuck outside of one's house. Her fingers closed around the small, oblong phone in her skirt pocket (which could only hold one object of pigmy size) and drew it out. "Here."

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Sasuke flipped open the phone and dialed Naruto's number rapidly with his thumb. He held it to his ear, pretending to cast his gaze on the opposite street when, in fact, he had perfected the art of observing someone without appearing to. It was an ability that one needed to develop in order to survive for long in the Uchiha family.

The girl had greeted him in English and he had addressed her in kind (the rigorous tutoring of his childhood having paid off), and yet, although her hair was an exotic, bizarrely pinkish color, he had the suspicion that she understood Japanese. Wary of fans as he was, though, he didn't think she was one of them. She was too self-possessed and – he admitted grudgingly – uncommonly pretty.

Seven rings later, Sasuke muttered at his own stupidity and ended the call. Naruto rarely heard his ringtone over his own ambient noise, but he answered Sasuke's with unscrupulous alacrity. Sasuke dialed his own number. Halfway through the second ring, someone on the other line picked up.

"Halloo, the too-cool-for-school Uchiha Sasuke, bastard extraordinaire, speaking!"

"You degenerate. This is Sasuke. Can you buzz open the gate?"

"Eh? You can't unlock it yourself?"

He bit back a growl. "I forgot my card and my cell. What's the password, if you won't unlock it?"

"I'm going, I'm going. Hey, if I'm using your cell, whose are you using?"

"Someone's," he snapped. His irritation seemed to fuel Naruto's unhelpful curiosity.

"Aw, hmm. What color is it?"

"Hurry up, Naruto!...Green."

"Yeah, but what shade? Manly green, green-green, or what?"

"Metallic green –" The gate unlocked with an annoying buzz. Sasuke flipped the phone shut, one hand on the latticed metal to swing the gate open. He glanced at the girl, who was looking at him with surprising forbearance. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He watched her walk down the sidewalk with that monstrosity of a dog tagging at her heels, and then pushed his way into the walled privacy of _Konoha_'s new, temporary home. She really _was _too pretty to be walking alone.

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Sasuke didn't return for a while after his second departure, as perhaps he should have.

Shikamaru slouched further into the couch as Naruto started galumphing down the stairs and halfway through – by the sound of it – decided to slide the rest of the way down the banister. He closed his eyes when his fellow band member veered into view. The idiot had probably forgotten about the decorative knob at the end of the banister.

Naruto's whoop mutated into a horrified shriek. Shikamaru opened his eyes at the resounding crash, and even Kiba looked away from flipping through the channels. _Konoha_'s lead singer had thrown himself off the banister just in time to hit Sasuke's guitar case. The case had toppled over with an unpromising clatter, as had the delicate side table against which its owner had leaned it. Naruto slumped on the floor, groaning.

"American reality shows have got nothing on us," Kiba muttered. When Naruto finally had the presence of mind to think beyond the pain, he turned over the case and opened it. Shikamaru closed his eyes again, this time in an attempt to ignore Naruto's look of horror and Kiba's sympathetic grimace.

This was going to be troublesome…

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	2. Chapter 2

**Notes**: It is a fact of life that when school begins, I end up typing chapters for a story that I am not especially inspired to write for. This is because I probably wrote said chapter a long time ago and am writing for another story or narrative already. I have EVERY INTENTION of finishing _Story of the Year_. I am _inspired _for it. The chapters for that one, however, got a bit too involved for me to type up, and I like to do chapters all in one sitting, since that is my only opportunity to edit for flow and grammar.

**Disclaimer: **Ah, Pein…and I thought _you_ were the cute one when you were younger.

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Four pairs of eyes latched onto Kotetsu's(1) face and stayed there as he inspected the costly guitar. About fifteen minutes later, he looked up with a wry grin that had Naruto releasing a sigh of relief. Too soon. "I don't know how you did it, but it's almost damaged beyond repair. What'd you do, whack it on a table a couple of times?"

Sasuke shot his _former _best friend a glare that promised pain beyond death.

"No…" Naruto's guilty admission was slow in coming. "But…er…it _did _hit a table."

Sasuke shoved his thumbs in his pockets, because his fingers were twitching with the desire to wring someone's neck. The consequences of acting on that impulse did not bother him unduly, but Sasuke could, and did, think of others before himself, and the difficulties that such an action would cause Shikamaru and Kiba would have punished them unjustly.

Then again…why hadn't anyone _stopped _Naruto?

The temperature in the room dropped a few more notches. Everyone else pretended not to notice.

"It's going to be at _least_ a week," concluded Kotetsu. He glanced over his shoulder. "What are you doing there, Naruto?"

Naruto was, of course, hiding.

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Once they had left the studio behind (and the poor guitar as well) Naruto ventured to say a few comforting words. Ramen always cheered _him_ up, and they might actually get to eat a decent bowl (or ten) when _Konoha_'s personally hired genius of a cook – and close friend – arrived. "Hey, we're picking Chouji up from the airport tonight."

"Yeah…and I'm driving," Shikamaru drawled. "You can be quiet in the back seat."

As the occasions that Shikamaru volunteered to do something were few and far between, he usually got his way. None of the other band members were much inclined to protest: Chouji had been Shikamaru's friend long before he became theirs, and the guy might also be arriving as late (or early) as one a.m.

They made it back to the mansion without physical injury. When they set foot in the foyer, however, Naruto blurted, "I didn't mean to, Sasuke. I swear! It was just kind of in the way – "

Kiba winced at the unfortunate word choice. "In the way." Sasuke's voice was flat enough to warn everyone in the vicinity to back away for a minimum distance of fifty meters.

"Uh…you know, I was sliding down the banister but I forgot there was a little bump at the end. So I barely – "

Sasuke exploded. (Well, figuratively.) "What the f – , Naruto! So you smashed up the Avenger because you were sliding down the f – ing banister?"

(None of the band members laughed. All of them had their idiosyncrasies; Sasuke's was the naming of his guitar, which – ever since he had dreamed of playing one as a toddler – was always referred to either as "the Avenger" or with a feminine pronoun. One did not laugh at the name or gender of Sasuke's guitar unless a death wish was involved.)

"No," hedged Naruto. "Not really. Kind of." Sasuke's withering glare prompted him to concede (as his apologetic smile faltered), "Yeah."

Shikamaru rubbed his forehead as the Uchiha climbed the stairs and disappeared into his room with an audible bang of the door. (Accompanied by the click of several battered locks.) Yes, the Uchiha was the only male of long acquaintance that Shikamaru knew who had PMS fits…in this case, though, he might even be justified. Naruto made his way to Shikamaru's recliner and slumped on it, looking incredibly dejected and remorseful.

Kiba settled onto the carpeted floor in front of the TV and pulled out a cardboard box from the TV cabinet. "He'll snap out of it," he said sagely as he extracted the latest Playstation from the box.

Naruto – ignoring Shikamaru's mildly annoyed glance – kicked out the foot rest. "Yeah, I know." Until then, however, he wouldn't have a friend to talk to: Shikamaru was making himself comfortable on the couch for a nap, and there was no interacting with Kiba unless one was the second participant in a two-player game. Naruto didn't really feel like joining in.

Thinking about calling a friend back in Japan (Gaara, after all, had volatile siblings and stood a slim chance of being able to offer advice), he flipped open his phone to see that he had one missed call. Going to the list revealed that Kotetsu had called him earlier, most likely about the guitar (as the damage had obviously been Naruto's fault, and Kotetsu was sympathetic by nature). The next one down was Kakashi, checking up on the band. The third and fourth ones down had caller ID…

His thumb paused on the downward button. Who was _that?_ The unlabeled string of numbers broke the chain of familiar names. Curiosity – which had already gotten him into trouble with Sasuke – warred with caution (as the memory of a half-crazed fan who'd stumbled onto the _Uchiha_'s number came to mind).

Given Naruto's nature, it didn't take him long to decide. His thumb pressed the button that said _Select. _A new menu popped up. _Options: Call…_

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TBC

(1) Private repairman/handyman/staff (paid for by _Konoha_'s producers) who travels with the band in case of emergencies. As shown here.


End file.
